


No Light

by ComeChaos



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Character Death, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeChaos/pseuds/ComeChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days ago, I played around with some pictures and came up with this:</p>
<p>http://come-chaos.tumblr.com/post/63115408301/why-are-you-sad-because-youre-not-supposed</p>
<p>I then felt like providing it with a story, this drabble being the result. Please feel free to keep interpreting the picture any way you want – this is just one of my own ideas for it! Angst ahead, please read tags for warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Light

The small crowd had now made its way up the stairs and stopped at the second level of the eastern promenade. The two dwarves at the rear took positions on either side of the walkway and appeared to tamper for a while with the mechanisms hidden within the first pair of lamp posts. Suddenly, a small light sprang up above their heads, and an echoing cheer rose from the crowd as gas continued to fill all the pipes along the promenade, fueling a hundred lamps until the walkway was enveloped in a soft and steady amber light.

Dwalin picked his teeth with his tongue for surely the hundredth time. Not that he had eaten anything recently.

The crowd slowly began to move again. Dwalin frowned, trying briefly to wrap his head around their excitement. They had cheered when the first level was lit up – they would be cheering when the pipe workers reached the third as well, he supposed. If so, he had better get moving. He might not understand the appeal of watching the same performance over and over again, but he knew that people usually became quiet and restless around him, and he was not comfortable with being the cause of their discomfort, nor with the attention of being ignored.

He took a deep breath and prepared to rise, but instead of moving, he closed his eyes for a moment. A sudden weariness overwhelmed him. It was all too familiar, and the recognition made him shiver. He found that he could not lift his hands. A wisp of cold air brushed past his scalp, and he opened his eyes again to look down at the now emptied second level.

Another brush of cold air touched him.

”Why are you sad?” said a voice, thin as smoke.

Dwalin opened his mouth, his eyes darting back and forth as he licked his cracked lips.

”Because … you're not supposed to be here, Thorin.”

His own voice sounded strange to his ears, as if he had not used it frequently for a long time. The coldness next to him shifted and transformed into something more substantial. Dwalin did not turn to look at it. He knew what it looked like – he knew that its eyes were empty of light, and that he could not touch it no matter how he tried. Only _it_ could touch _him_.

”And why is that?” the creature said softly, as it placed a weightless hand on Dwalin's shoulder.

”You're dead,” Dwalin croaked. ”You died in the battle, two years ago. You sleep with the stone of your fathers upon your breast, and the young ones sleep beside you.”

”How can I be dead if I am here?”

Dwalin could feel its smile, a fearsome shadow of former beauty.

”You're not here,” he said firmly, a little louder.

_You're not here_ , he repeated to himself, lifting his hands to rub fervently at his temples. The creature just kept smiling, cold and gentle.

”Are you sure?”

”Thorin,” Dwalin whispered. ”Thorin, please go.”

The creature leaned closer, until the broken spear protuding from its stomach nudged Dwalin's back. _I removed that spear_ , Dwalin thought. _I took it out myself, long before he died. Why is it still there?_ Cold fingers wove themselves into his greying hair, tangling and untangling it. He swallowed and looked down into his lap, resisting the burning desire to lean into the touch – to feel those strong, tender hands against his skin one more time. _It's not real_ , he thought to himself. _It's not him_.

Gauzy lips appeared next to his ear, whispering slowly and tauntingly.

”But I _love_ you.”

Dwalin flung his hand out. It ripped through the amber-lit air with a crack of joints and shattered the mist around him. He looked up and blinked, knowing immediately that the space next to him was empty. He turned his head to the other side and suddenly noticed that the crowd had reached his level. A young woman was looking at him from the distance, her eyes wide and her posture apprehensive. Dwalin rose.

He made his way slowly back down the streets of the still quiet residential areas. Perhaps he would come to supper with the nine tomorrow as Balin had asked of him. More likely, he would not. A third cheer from the promenade rose and fell behind him.


End file.
